Double Blind
by completelyensnarryed
Summary: Hp/ss. Hurt/comfort. Schoolfic. Snarry. An accident in potions class… WARNING: Do not read if you are not a fan of Harry, Snape, snarry, or slash, because that is exactly what you will find if you click to read this fic. If you don't know what slash is, don't read this fic.


"Late, Potter?" came the snide voice of the Potions Master. "Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Harry stood in the doorway to the Potions classroom. Snape was impossible, but what else was new? With the war over, the man clearly saw no point in being reasonable to Harry Potter, of all people.

Still… clenching his fist around the scroll in his hand, he decided that he would not let Snape get away with _any_ of his git-like behavior this year. No matter what it cost him.

"Don't dawdle, Potter, and sit down quickly. Or I'll take more points," Snape reminded Harry, and Harry realized that he was just standing at the front of the room, scowling at Snape's unfairness.

The scroll made a rustling noise in Harry's hand, reminding him of its presence, and so Harry found himself walking toward Snape (instead of sitting down at a desk).

"This is why I was late," Harry told his Potions professor, handing over the scroll.

Snape took it, eyes shifting from Harry to the wrapped parchment.

"Well? What're you still here for? Sit down." Snape gestured towards the desks with the scroll.

Harry stared determinedly at Snape.

"May Gryffindor have its points back?" he asked Snape coolly.

Snape's eyes narrowed, but whether at Harry's gall or at Harry being a Gryffindor and asking for an exemption, Harry could not be certain.

He lowered his eyes to the scroll, however, his hands unraveling it as he read over what it contained. His glower intensified when he looked back at Harry.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," the Potions Master retracted unwillingly, glower deepening as though it were all Harry's fault that Snape had taken points in the first place. "Now get to your seat!" he snapped.

Harry took the last available seat at the Gryffindor table, capturing Ron's gaze and asking a nonverbal question. _Can I partner with you_?

Ron glanced over at Hermione, looking both apologetic and somehow triumphant. They were working together, then. Who did that leave?

With a quick glance over the rest of the class (everyone seemed to be partnered up), Harry saw a pair of hazel eyes gazing at him. That settles that, then.

My partner for this session, Harry concluded and moved to sit next to Neville Longbottom.

Neville had changed his mind and wished to become an Auror, a course of action he could not complete without Advanced Potions-making. In a show of generosity (or was that gratitude, that Snape felt for the fact that the Other-Boy-Who-Lived offed Nagini), Snape accepted Neville into his class, and, according to Neville, even let him know that he would sign off on his Auror application form after only one year of advanced Potions instead of the usual two. This might have been because Snape still did not fully trust Neville's presence in a Potions laboratory, whether the boy was a war hero or not.

Harry glanced around the classroom, wondering what potion was the assignment this class. He saw Neville adding crushed mint leaves to a muddy-coloured potion.

_A stomach-calming draught_? Harry wondered. But that would have been…sort of greenish, wouldn't it? The potion required more mint than anything else, and Neville was adding only the small amount on the cutting board.

In a bout of hopefulness, Harry glanced over at Snape's teaching board. Empty. Snape always Banished the potions instructions half-way to the end of class, so that late-comers and stragglers would stand out by their inability to finish the assignment and would merit more points lost._Impossible git_, Harry scowled, not wishing Snape to get the better of him. Even if Harry had shown up late, it was no cause for Snape to be a bastard about it.

He turned around to Ron and Hermione's table.

_What potion_? He whispered to her, pointing at her cauldron.

Snape was close enough to cost Gryffindor points for unsolicited conversation in the Potions classroom, so Hermione mimed choking (one hand on her throat) and drinking a phial (with her other hand) while Ron stirred a progressively clearing potion before pouring in adder blood.

An anti-asphyxiation potion, then. That uses mint leaves in quantity that does not turn the potion green, offset by the blood. What else, though? Harry wracked his brain, trying to think of what else this particular potion required. Neville was merely stirring the potion in the cauldron, not adding anything to it, Harry thought with chagrin, having looked in his direction in a case of hopeful (though causeless) inspiration.

Harry glanced at the cutting board. Arsenicum album extract lay there… it calmed the lungs and allowed them to fill up completely, and… He attempted to remember what the lumpy grey thing on their table was. That rib-freeing thing, whatever it does… ground ham bone. Snape's potions-kit requirement every consecutive year, that one was, to the point of him actually taking points from any student with an unprepared potions kit. Well, Harry found a use for it now. The powder was just what the potion required.

"Thanks," he whispered to Hermione before turning back around to his own table, ending up face-to-face with Snape.

"No talking in class. Fifteen points from Gryffindor," Snape smirked, spitefully gleeful at being able to take points he would not have to retract this time. Git. Harry would show _him_, when he and Neville came out with the perfect potion. And if they were lucky, Snape would keel over from shock and they wouldn't have to face the git's presence ever again, Ministry auror programme or no.

So instead of arguing over Snape's fairness (a losing battle), Harry turned to his and Neville's potion. They _will_ make a decent potion. That would show him.

Harry grinned vindictively into the cauldron, the potion was clear-brown. Nearly finished, it was. All they needed to add was the frog's lung, and that was easy enough.

Suddenly Harry felt a hand on his arm. Neville was looking at him intently. "This is a quiz portion," he whispered once he caught Snape on the Slytherins' side of the classroom (and well out of unaided earshot). "Snape said we get no help on it today. Do you know the last step?" he asked hopefully. "I forgot it."

"I think so." Harry told him in a whisper, aware of Snape on the other side of the classroom. "Powdered bone," he intoned at Neville's questioning look.

Harry took a phial out of his potions kit, uncorking it and sifted the powder to the contents of their potion before setting the phial back and mixing the potion, slowly and thoroughly.

The potion turned a foggy green colour and promptly began to emit gas bubbles.

_That wasn't supposed to happen_! Harry thought, coughing, as brown potions fumes from the cauldron enveloped him.

But he could not be certain of that as, feeling fuzzy and light-headed (and unable to catch his breath, what was that?) he fell headfirst into the cauldron.

He heard someone yell out from somewhere behind him, feeling a strong pair of arms pulling at him and made the most valiant effort he could manage to follow where they were taking him, except that his vision was darkening all around him and he slumped, unconscious, into the darkness of the potion's murky depths.

There was lots of yelling when Harry woke up. And Snape was the one doing it. He briefly wondered why Snape was here, wincing as the Potions Master's words seemed to imprint themselves on the inside of his skull. Something about an antidote.

_Why can't he just make one_? Harry thought reasonably. _And stop screaming about it_. His ears couldn't take the sound of Snape's verbal barrage right at this moment, he thought, wincing. The screaming paused.

He opened his eyes, and promptly closed them again (too bright! He was facing a window), then opened them again when the brightness dimmed as someone cast a light-shading spell.

His glasses were on the bedside table beside his bed and he reached for them, putting them on. The three shapes around him coalesced into the Potions Master (as though he needed the reminder), the Headmaster, and the Gryffindor Head of House.

Albus Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry.

"You gave us quite the scare, my boy. How are you feeling?"

McGonagall nodded at the Headmaster's words, her own concern for Harry's wellbeing just as evident, except for the fact that she, unlike the Headmaster, was also frowning.

Snape was even more forthcoming.

"Potter!" He sneered, voicing his own form of concern as he lowered his face to Harry's. "What in Merlin's name prompted you to add arsenicum album TO AN ANGINA DRAUGHT?" he yelled into Harry's face (Harry's hands covered his ears instinctively). "And to top it off with calcium extract, of all things?"

Harry blinked at the obvious question.

"We were making Anti Asphyxiation Aliquot." Harry told Snape honestly, half-question, half-answer.

Snape's face turned red.

"NOT ONLY DO YOU SHOW UP LATE TO THE LESSON, YOU NEARLY KILL YOURSELF THROUGH UTTER STUPIDITY DURING SAID LESSON!" He would have continued to rage, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.

He held Harry's gaze. "We were very worried about you, Harry," he explained, earning a red-faced glower from Snape for his troubles. "Severus, kindly explain to Harry what you have just told us." He looked beseechingly at the Potions Master, blue eyes concerned as he nodded in Harry's direction, prodding Snape.

Snape obliged and turned to Harry, leaning until they were nearly face-to-face.

"Mr Potter, earlier in my class," he began, black eyes glinting in fury, voice deceptively soft as though forcefully holding himself in check. "In the course of the potion you brewed _incorrectly_," here he sneered at Harry, "you have gotten yourself two lungs full of calcium phosphate. Because you failed to inquire what your assignment was, and what your partner had done prior to your benighted appearance." He smirked, nailing Harry's incompetence into his head with the force of a blasting curse.

"You now have absolutely no lung capacity until such a time as this sad state of events is corrected, meaning, of course, that you ingest a potion to help your body rid itself of the problematic essence residing in your pulmonary system, a potion that I must now brew because of your disregard for rules in the Potions classroom."

He smiled at Harry in an unpleasant way, as though it gave him great pleasure to remind Harry of his incompetence, staring unpleasantly at him and leaving no room for interpretation as to just whom he was belittling with his speech.

"Do you think you can survive this ailment of yours long enough for me to brew this antidote, _Boy-Who-Lived_?" Snape's tone was snide as he pronounced the title. "I promise not to poison you," he offered magnanimously, speaking to Harry as though he were a child that needed reassurance that the Potions Master was not the wicked witch, about to boil Hansel in her cast-iron cauldron.

"Severus, that was a bit excessive, wouldn't you say?" McGonagall intervened, shaking her head at Snape's words.

The Potions Master shook his head. "Not any more than Potter's ignorance, Minerva."

Dumbledore stopped her from replying further by the simple expedient of loudly calling for Madame Pomfrey, before turning to Harry. Snape smirked victoriously in the Gryffindor Head of House's direction, having gotten the last word in their conversation. McGonagall's lips thinned disapprovingly, but, true to Dumbledore, she did not retaliate further.

"Harry," Dumbledore told him solemnly, once the medi-witch had come back into the room. "Until Severus is able to make the antidote, you must take special precautions." Madame Pomfrey nodded at the Headmaster's words. "Follow all of them, Harry," he added, emphasis on the 'all.'

With that, Harry was left to the tender mercies of the medi-witch.

"Harry, you have ASTHMA!" Hermione's brown eyes widened in horror as Harry related to her everything Madame Pomfrey told him.

"And it's hard enough to control, growing up with it and knowing all the dangers. But for a healthy person to face all of its risks, all of a sudden…." She paled. "You could die, Harry." Her eyes filled with tears.

"You be careful, eh, mate?"

Ron's face, growing progressively worried, grew even graver at Hermione's pronouncement.

Harry did not share their concern. It was only a potion's side effects. What hurt more was messing up the potion in the first place. No doubt Snape was pleased – though for some reason, he did not take points.

"I'll be fine," Harry assured them both. The medi-witch had explained what Harry needed to know. It seemed simple enough.

"I know what I am doing." He smiled at his friends, projecting as much confidence into his words as he could.

Ron returned his smile. Hermione burst into tears.

Harry Potter was a Stealth Auror.

He was hiding. That was why it was imperative to stay as quiet as possible, not even breathing, as he was a hair's breadth away from being found out if he did even that.

Quiet. Quiet. He… was… nearly… there…

"IF IT ISN'T HARRY POTTER!"

Shite. Shitethiteshite!

All of a sudden Voldemort came out of nowhere, his hands wrapping around Harry's throat.

Tightening.

And as Harry was scrambling to throw him off, prying the bony fingers off his neck….

He woke up.

Harry came to, feeling a strange, air-tight feeling surrounding his whole upper body. His chest felt as though it were made of stone. His mouth opened and closed, a desperate-sounding gasp coming out as his hand went unfailingly to the bedside table.

The calming potion.

Empty. He forgot to get more last night.

Shite. And it had to happen at night, too, not when he was five steps away from the Hospital Wing.

He willed himself to not panic, and inhaled as deeply as he could. He felt air go into his lungs, but more than that he felt that it was not nearly enough, causing his chest to contract inwardly, craving more.

Schooling himself, he took the deepest breath that he could and was gratified to feel that it helped somewhat, as he got out of bed and threw an over-robe over himself and made his way out of the dorm and down the stairs.

_Maybe someone is still awake_, he hoped wildly, but the common room was empty as he passed through the portrait hole. He wondered what time it was, but did not want to risk saying the spell out loud, the way he was.

But even as he turned the corner into the second corridor, alas, no one was around. He could be fairly sure of that, as they would surely have heard him coming from a ways off, and Filch would have wasted no opportunity to remind Harry that he was breaking rules and that it would cost him.

No Filch. And on the one night that Harry would have gladly run into him too, he realized, clutching at his chest and straining to draw breath into his rebellious lungs.

Breathe. Breathe. Deeper.

That helped somewhat, but he needed a permanent solution.

A blur darted across the end of the hallway. _Mrs Norris_? Harry thought.

But the small shape did not disappear, but grew larger as it approached, and Harry realized that it wasn't the cat.

It was Snape.

He looked annoyed as he came upon Harry, but as he took one look at Harry's state, he seemed to realize something and his mouth closed on what he was about to say.

_Hospital Wing. I am going to the hospital wing,_ he willed Snape to understand from inside his mind.

Their eyes met in the darkness above Snape's lighted _Lumos Minimus_.

"There's no one there, Potter," the Potions Master said softly. "And there's no cure for an acute attack, either." His dark eyes bore into Harry's. "Why didn't you take the potion?"

"Forgot," Harry flushed and Snape's eyes narrowed disapprovingly, before Harry broke into a fit of coughing and Snape's face showed something akin to concern for a brief moment, before he took hold of Harry's hand and squeezed it painfully, making Harry yelp.

Harry felt his face redden in anger, but what Snape saw apparently pleased him because he smiled faintly.

"You need to breathe more fully now, Potter," he told Harry matter-of-factly, not letting go of Harry's hand. The contact turned from painful to tingling as Snape squeezed the already-tender muscles.

"That hurts, you bastard!" Harry yelled.

Snape only smirked mysteriously and Harry wanted to hit him.

He nearly did it too, out of frustration (from this whole night, from Snape's stupid potion, from trying to make a perfect potion when, who's he kidding, nothing Harry did would ever be good enough for Snape), but he missed a step and would have fallen had Snape not been holding onto him.

He grinned menacingly in the darkness at Harry, and Harry recoiled.

"What're you–?"

But instead of explaining, Snape closed the scant distance between them, pulling Harry in by his hand the rest of the way and, taking Harry's face firmly between his hands (Harry was forced to look into Snape's eyes) as he _kissed him_!

Harry's mouth was roughly thrust open as Snape's tongue pushed past his lips and pinned Harry's tongue to his lower jaw, his own holding it in place.

One of Snape's hands snaked up Harry's face and pinched his nose and not a moment later Harry saw Snape's cheeks hollow as he blew air into Harry's mouth!

Their eyes met once again. _Swallow it, Potter. Swallow it all._

He held Harry in place, loosening the hand on Harry's face as he felt Harry struggle to exhale, before pinching Harry's nose closed again and once more breathing air into Harry's mouth.

_Again, Potter._ He commanded and Harry struggled to comply, his lungs expanding under the onslaught almost against their will.

_But I can breathe now,_ Harry realized, as he continued to kiss Snape, but this time voluntarily sucking the air out of Snape along with his tongue.

When they pulled apart, Harry was no longer gasping and Snape's cheeks were flushed, his black eyes glinting.

_Funny how he no longer looks menacing_ Harry gazed gratefully at Snape in the near-darkness. _He just saved my life,_ Harry realized. _Instead of taking points, yelling, and giving detention. Severus Snape had just saved my life._

He was light-headed, though he suspected it was more from the realization of just what Professor Snape had done to him. His breathing was evening, returning to normal, and, though Snape still held him, he had taken his hands off of Harry's face and promptly noticed that Harry's eyes had closed in the latter moments of their "kiss".

Feeling the loss of warmth on his cheeks, Harry opened his eyes.

Snape's cheeks were flushed a dark red as he gazed silently at his student.

As though only just now noticing, he let go of the hand he had taken earlier.

"I finished the antidote," he began, sounding very different from the Professor Snape that Harry had come to know.

"Pomfrey would have given it to you in the morning, but seeing as you are awake now, and not suffering from the ill-effects of your _condition_ (a knowing look), there's no reason you cannot take it now and spare everyone further discontent on your behalf."

"Yes," Harry said, not knowing what else to say. He did not think he was quite up to saying, '_Thank you for saving my life, Professor Snape'._ So he contented himself with following the Potions Master as the latter turned and, with a glare to make sure that Harry was following, walked swiftly in the direction of the Potions laboratory.

He did not think he'd miss the warmth of Snape's fingers on his body, but as they made their silent trek, Harry's hand reached out almost of its own accord to grip Snape's.

"What're you doing, Potter?" His gaze went to his left hand.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry told him honestly as his gaze met Snape's.

Snape made a humphing sound, almost a dismissal, but he did not pull his hand away until they were at the potions laboratory, and even then, only because it would make entry rather problematic.

"Warren Warwick," Snape commanded when they were facing the door, and took hold of the handle, opening it easily and ushering Harry inside, the door closing silently behind them.

"Sit," the Potions Master offered unceremoniously in the direction of the wooden workbench along the entire length of the wall while he went over to the shelves along the opposite wall and took a phial from a row of identically-labeled ones.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry told him when Snape came back and thrust the potion at him. "For… being around." _For finding me in the middle of the night and making sure I was all right._

Snape looked nonplussed. "Take the potion, Mr Potter," he said, softer than the imperious tone he used a moment earlier and drew apart from Harry, clearly uncomfortable with their current proximity and the nature of their conversation.

He did not know how to respond. He had done what he would have done for anybody, under the circumstances (even if it did feel good when Harry had mistaken his actions and deepened their kiss).

Harry uncorked the potion and tilted it into his mouth, swallowing the entire concoction in one gulp, not caring to find out just how disgusting its taste was, choking as it went down too fast.

Snape, seeing this, clapped Harry on the back, hard, and some of the potion righted its course, which Harry swallowed promptly.

Sweet. This potion was very sweet.

Just like Snape tonight. It was unnerving and strangely welcome. Harry wondered if Snape's potions are in some way related to the Potions Master – because there seems to be a relationship between their palatability and Snape's.

The same Snape who was looking at Harry, an undecided/hopeful expression on his face.

"Now… to test that the potion worked," he intoned carefully, eyes never leaving Harry's face as he lunged at him and covered Harry's mouth completely with his own, kissing him once again.

Unlike their first time, however, Snape now _sucked_ the air out of Harry's mouth, leaving him gasping and pulling away, before finding breath once more and leaning back into his Potions professor to respond to the kiss, opening his mouth wider and coaxing Snape's tongue inside. Except Snape stubbornly refused the invitation, but only proceeded to suck more air out of Harry while keeping Harry near and _not_ clamping off his nose as he had done earlier.

That was why he was completely taken aback when Harry pulled away from Snape, eyes wide and green and glimmering in excitement, gasping before plunging back in and sucking Snape's tongue into his mouth, his hands burrowing in Snape's greasy hair, and turning the experiment into a full-fledged kiss.

This was completely inappropriate. This… would be seen as 'taking advantage' because Harry was barely an adult and Snape two times the adult for there to be any possible room in seeing this in any sort of innocent light.

But their bodies were touching now, with Harry molding himself to Snape, moaning deliciously into Snape's mouth as his erection bumped the Potions Master's stomach, rubbing against a similar hardness in Snape's own robes.

_Potter is… aroused from this?_ He thought wildly, but could not bring himself to do anything other than pull the boy closer, feeling the delicious tingling friction as Potter rubbed off on him, Potter's moans sending delicious shivers down his spine and coalescing around his prick as he pushed his own prick against Snape's and came in his pants, the realization of which brought Snape over the edge as well.

They pulled apart, man from boy and boy from man, one flushed and gazing up at the other with hopeful excitement, while the other was left wondering how in Merlin's name a medical necessity culminated in… in whatever it was that they had just done.

He listened for the sounds of the boy's breathing, and was gratified to note that he could follow predictable rhythms this time around.

"You'll be fine now, Potter," he told the boy wryly. "And it is about time you went back to your dormitory." _Before I decide that I liked what you did and demand an encore,_ lips thinning in order to pre-empt the smile that would have otherwise flooded his features.

"You were oxygen-deprived long enough to require me to make sure you would not have respiratory arrest, Mr Potter," he explained. "As you doubtless would have (considering the nature of our interaction) if my potion had not worked." He smirked at Harry, as though challenging Harry to claim that the potion did not have its desired result.

_A test. All of this had been nothing but a test to him._ Uncomfortable with the realization, Harry averted his eyes from looking into Snape's face. He felt humiliated. The Potions Master had done what he should have done and made sure that Harry was all right, because he was a student and as such his well-being fell under Snape's responsibilities.

No more, no less.

He was an obligation to Snape. _Obligation._ Amazing how that word could knock one down with the strength of a Hippogriff's kick. Harry looked down, his trousers were a mess, a darker patch weighing heavier, denoting the fact that his underpants were full of come, his cock sticking to his pants.

And then he saw it.

Snape's trousers had a similar wet spot on them, in the exact same place! Harry grinned. He had made Snape, _Professor_ Snape, come in his pants!

"Uh-huh, a test," Harry gave Snape a provocative look that trailed to the Potions Master's groin. "You enjoyed the _test_ too, didn't you, sir?" He asked his professor, seemingly off-handedly, daring to smirk at Snape.

"I–" he began, fishing for something to say, at a loss for once. _It didn't happen. Please, Potter. As far as anyone is concerned, no matter what did, in fact happen…_

"You what, Professor?" Harry asked.

"That… wasn't supposed to happen," Snape, cheeks red, stammered futilely. It was the first that Harry had ever heard Snape sounding so uncertain as to speak in such a discomfited manner. He should have felt victorious, reducing the stern and strict Potions Master to this. But it was unnerving Harry…

Harry placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Thank you for what you did, regardless, sir," Harry told him quietly.

Snape seemed to remember himself. "You'd better go back to your dorm," he offered. He took out his wand and cast a cleaning charm over the both of them.

At the door, Harry turned back to Snape. Smiled.

"I think I like _this_ Professor Snape best," he offered, grinning. "Better than the nasty Potions Master who screams and takes points for no reason at all."

"He cares for your well-being," came the automatic reply, before horrified realization came to Snape's face, causing him to pale at just what he had revealed.

"I care about you too, sir," Harry told him, as the door swung open to let him out.

"Good night, Professor." And he was gone, the door having shut behind him once more.

The Potions Master was left to stare in his wake, his heart and his mind screaming themselves hoarse inside his mind. They grew quiet only when he sat in his arm chair, staring mournfully into the flickering flames inside his hearth.

_What have I just done?_

_Harry Potter,_ his inner voice supplied cheekily.

He buried his face in his hands.

"Mate, what's wrong with you in Potions class?" Ron asked one day.

"Harry, I refuse to believe that you have suddenly forgot everything Snape had taught us," Hermione whispered furiously at him.

Their concern was warranted, but that didn't mean that Harry wanted it.

The past three months Harry had done absolutely horrible work for Snape's class, and was, in fact, failing. Hermione caught on that something was amiss; so did Ron. Neither of them had any clue as to why.

It had seemed like just the thing he needed – when he was walking over to talk to Snape one day, and had overheard him lecturing Goyle. Goyle was failing Potions (as well as every other subject) and Snape was giving him a stern talking-to regarding his prospects in the world were he to continue to do such poor work.

Goyle relented and was now seen in the company of Ravenclaws, studying all of his subjects as diligently as the best of them. His Head of House's conversation with the Ravenclaw Head of House had seen this into fruition. His marks had gone up substantially.

Harry's didn't. It was exactly the solution he was looking for. Fail Potions. Stay in Hogwarts. See Snape. Although he did want to become an Auror, he did not like the prospect of never seeing the Potions Master again.

He shook his head. Hermione and Ron wouldn't understand. They had each other and would be graduating together. They would have each other at the end of the year. But Harry… Harry would lose Snape forever with his graduation from Hogwarts. He'd go into the Auror Corps and never see Snape again.

But… if he _didn't_ finish Hogwarts… He'd get to stay with Snape. It's worth it, even if Hermione would fail to see the logic.

He did not remember what he told his two friends – just that Hermione frowned and increased their study time by an extra six hours (making Ron groan, but acquiesce), the first enhanced study session to occur tonight (Ron groaned and glared at Harry this time).

With that, class was over, and everyone rushed out, leaving their potions in phials on Snape's desk to be graded. Harry didn't bother. His potion was firmly encrusted to the bottom of his cauldron (he had not diminished the fire underneath his cauldron once since the lesson began), its only hope an _Evanesco_, which is just what Harry did.

"Potter, stay behind," Snape's voice called him over as Hermione left with Ron, letting Harry know to tell them what Snape wanted later.

As Harry approached the Potions professor, he noted that Snape was looking right at Harry, his expression more of a disappointment than the fury he had expected.

"Potter, have I been mistaken in my assumption that we have had a breakthrough in our relationship three months ago? Because I seem to remember your adding a degree of respect to our interactions." He was referring to Harry treating Snape as a professor, even going so far as to stop the Gryffindors when they referred to Snape as a 'greasy git'.

"And as such," Snape continued, "there is no reason for the substandard garbage you have been giving me as your work, of late." With that, he threw a pile of scrolls onto the desk between them, all of it graded, and Harry realized that it was his homework.

"A troll would do better," Snape frowned, "but as I have no mark for work of lower quality than a troll's, forgive me, Potter, for not ranking your work accordingly. Perhaps the Ministry will endeavour to come up with a new grading scale just for the famous Harry Potter."

The top scroll had a large red T on it, Harry noticed, and he had it on good authority that the rest of it was similarly marked. _Snape was failing him._ His heart warmed at the thought. _The plan is working. He really was failing!_

He'd have to stay at Hogwarts longer now, because Snape was failing him. And how could he not? His work was beyond atrocious. He'd stay with Snape for one more year….

Snape interrupted his thoughts.

"Why are you smiling, Potter?" Snape spoke softly, furious. "This," he slapped the pile of scrolls with the palm of his hand, "is no laughing matter."

Of course it wasn't. But being near Snape was. Their eyes met.

Legilimency, Harry realized, too late, as Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"YOU–," he screeched at Harry, "–YOU ARE DOING THIS–," he hit the table this time, making Harry's homework scrolls flutter, "–ON PURPOSE?" He looked like he was seriously considering hexing Harry, grabbing him by the lapels of his robes and shaking him. "YOU STUPID BOY!" He yelled right into Harry's face.

Snape never called him that. There were many adjectives that Snape never failed to hurl at Harry, but he'd not yet had reason to question Harry's intelligence like this.

Hurt, Harry felt his eyes fill with tears. _Snape hates me._

All the brilliance of his planning, what good was it if Snape never wished to actually be with him?

He remembered the soft pressure of Snape's kiss, the hard determination of it as Snape rubbed his cock against Harry's…

The plan was too brilliant to fail. Unfortunately, failure was written into the plan's own execution. He really was an idiot, wasn't he?

"Potter?" The familiar voice, right above him. He did not look up. Even if Snape didn't sound angry with him, surely that was an illusion?

A hand came up underneath his chin and Harry saw dark eyes staring into his own, pupils indistinguishable from irises at such proximity–Oh! Surprise. Snape was surprised.

"Why are you crying, Potter?" No Legilimency followed.

"If I finish school, I won't see you again."

"WHAT?" _Is_ that _the cause of Potter's even more abysmal performance in my class?_ His mouth hung open, he was too busy processing the likelihood of Potter having uttered those exact words.

"Let me see if I understand. All this," Snape waved his hand over the desk between them, Harry's 'work' (frowning disapproval there), "was just your attempt to fail my class and remain one more year…" he gulped, uncertain of just what he was saying even as he was forced into saying it, "…because you want to stay near _me_?"

Harry nodded. There was no need to hide 'the plan' from Snape anymore, when he understood so perfectly.

Until the Potions Master snorted, Harry had no idea that the man was laughing.

_At me_, Harry realized, and the truth hurt.

"Potter, you really are… exceptional. Your late work notwithstanding, of course. No one had ever failed my class _because_ they wanted to see more of me." Come to think of it, they usually failed because he failed their performance himself. Potter was an exception here, yet again.

"Yes, sir." Potter looked so utterly pathetic without his arrogance it was downright grating on him, however. That needs to be corrected. Potter wasn't Potter unless he was an arrogant, belligerent whelp who annoyed Snape to no end, but the latter would not have it any other way, even if he'd never admit it to said Potter.

"You do realize that I am not going to let you do this, don't you Potter?"

"I don't see how you can stop me, sir. I am failing, you see. Come summer, and the Ministry will have no choice except to keep me on for another year."

"Detention, Potter. You are in detention with me for the rest of the year. _Every night._ That means not even Quidditch pr–" His eyes glinted victoriously. "You were thrown off the team two months ago, weren't you?" That's why Weasley played Seeker at the last game. He refused to think about what it meant, that Potter would forego that most sacred of all wizarding pastimes known as Quidditch, for Snape, of all people, effectively trying to push out the stubborn warm glow in his chest as to just what Potter had placed on the altar of sacrifice at Snape's feet.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, more for the show of penitence than actual feeling.

"Then consider yourself in Remedial Potions with me every night."

He was not sure it worked. Potter grinned, first hopefully, then cheekily, then promisingly, at Snape, green eyes glinting.

"I'd like that very much, Professor Snape."

"Good. Your first session with me is tonight, Potter. Come down to my chambers after supper. Password is the same as the laboratory's. Come prepared."

After Potter left, he sank into the chair behind him, wondering how long it would take Potter to realize that he scheduled their lessons in his private chambers.

So Potter wasn't completely hopeless.

Even in this he exceeded Snape's expectations.


End file.
